by C. L. Taylor
He nods at the orderlies again. ‘She’s ready. You can put her in with the rest now.’
*
I make small talk with the orderlies as they lead me down a series of white corridors. They look at each other and grin when I apologize for not immediately complying with their orders when I first arrived.
‘At least you didn’t try and punch us,’ the blond one says.
I look at him in shock. ‘People do that?’
He smirks, but I’m not sure why. I feel dazed, as though I’ve just woken from a long sleep. ‘Yes, miss. They do.’
‘Did I say something amusing?’
‘No, miss.’ He pushes at a white door. There’s a sign above it that says ‘Lounge’. He indicates that I should go in. ‘If you wait in the lounge someone will show you to your room.’
‘My room? I thought I’d be going home immediately after treatment. I’m keen to see my mum and stepdad again. You’re not the only people I need to apologize to.’
‘You’ll need to stay here for a week or so first,’ the blond orderly says. ‘Just to, you know, acclimatize.’
I glance down at my clothes. I’m still wearing the long-sleeved top and leggings I was asked to change into when I arrived. ‘Will I be given something else to wear? I had a … a suitcase. Clothes and some personal items although …’ I tail off. I feel embarrassed now, remembering the clothes that I wore when I arrived. I looked like such a scruff. Sixteen years old and dressing like some kind of down and out when I should be portraying a much more polished, professional demeanour if I want to be taken seriously.
‘Don’t worry,’ the dark-haired orderly says. ‘You’ll be given clothes. And if you’re feeling self-conscious, don’t bother. All the kids in here arrived in the same kit as you. They won’t give you a second look.’ He pushes the door further open.
The lounge is full of teenagers, my age and younger. They’re playing chess, reading newspapers, doing puzzles and reading books. The only sound is the gentle swish of a page being turned or a chess piece being pushed across the board. It’s an oasis of calm. I scan the room, looking for a spare chair. There are two people – a young man and young woman – sitting either side of a sofa with a space between them. The girl is writing in a notebook. The boy is staring into space with the smallest of smiles on his face. I head towards them, stopping short as I get closer. The boy is Mason, my brother. The girl is my old room-mate, Megan. Something sharp and desperate sparks inside me but the feeling dulls quickly and then disappears. Mason senses me watching him and looks up. He smiles warmly.
‘Hello, Drew. I didn’t expect to see you here.’ He leans across the sofa and touches Megan on the arm. ‘Megan, this is my sister Drew.’
She nods. ‘Yes, I remember you. Lovely to see you again, Drew.’ I feel the spark again, at the sound of her soft Welsh accent. I liked her. We were friends. But we were also incredibly stupid. Mason too. If our escape attempt had succeeded we would have remained naive and unenlightened, with no purpose in our lives. Thank goodness Mrs H. took such decisive action when she discovered what we were planning. I won’t mention it to them though. I imagine Mason and Megan feel as embarrassed about what happened as I do.
Megan smiles politely then returns to her writing.
‘Would you like to do a puzzle?’ Mason asks. ‘There’s a thousand-piece jigsaw that I’d like to.’
‘Yes,’ I smile. ‘I’d love to.’
*
We’ve just completed the outer square of the jigsaw when Stuart walks into the room.
‘Megan, Mason, it’s time for you to do your assembly,’ he says.
Megan and my brother share an excited grin and the other students applaud politely. I join in, even though I feel a frisson of envy. I wish I could share the insights I’ve gained with the pre-assessment students. Megan and Mason say goodbye to me and cross the room, chatting excitedly and then disappear into the corridor. As the door closes, I return my attention to the puzzle and try to push down my feelings of disappointment. It’s not a productive emotion. If I want to achieve great things I need to work harder but, for now, the jigsaw is a socially acceptable way to spend my free time.
*
I place the last piece in the puzzle. Mason and Megan have still not returned from assembly and, with all the newspapers being read and no desire to play chess, I approach the orderly sitting on a chair by the door.
‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I’d like to read a book. Is that allowed?’
‘There’s a bookshelf over there.’ He points across the room. ‘What do you like reading?’
A memory flashes through my brain – of me giving a book to Mum when we arrived at Norton House. It was an important book. I was studying it on the train and I needed her to return it to the library for me. Why can’t I remember what it was? I dismiss the thought. It won’t have been important. Nothing I did, nothing I said, nothing I thought before treatment was important.
‘I’m not sure what I like reading,’ I say. ‘What would Doctor Rothwell approve of?’
Chapter Thirty-Six
My free time didn’t last long. After half an hour I was approached by an orderly and handed a pair of green overalls to change into. Now I am walking across the field to Norton House with a bucket and mop in one hand and a cleaning tray in the other.
‘You’re new, aren’t you?’ says the mixed-race girl beside me, matching me pace for pace.
I shoot her a puzzled look. ‘I’ve been here for several weeks.’
‘No, to cleaning duty. I haven’t seen you on rota before.’
‘Today is my first day.’
The orderly, walking ahead of us, clears his throat and my stomach clenches with anxiety. Are we not supposed to talk? I’ve read the welcome booklet several times and I don’t remember reading anything about whether talking is acceptable outside of the lounge. I did read that community service was character building and an important way of giving back to society but there was no mention of whether …
‘We’re allowed to talk,’ the girl says, reading my fraught expression. ‘Don’t worry. You won’t get into trouble. I’m Mia by the way.’
‘Drew.’
We follow the orderly through the gate at the side of the football pitch, across the running track and into the part of the building that houses the swimming pool. There are no students in the water and the only sound as we cross the wide room is the squeak of our trainers on the tiles.
‘OK,’ the orderly says, as he flashes his pass at the door and ushers us into a white corridor, ‘over there is the sanatorium.’ He points at a white door directly in front of us.
‘And those are isolation units.’ He points further down the corridor at a series of doors. ‘Mia, I’d like you to mop the floor and scrub down every surface in the first isolation room. Drew, you can do the san. I’ll wait out here. Any questions, just ask.’ He opens a cupboard door to his right and pulls out a folding chair. He props it against the wall then holds his staff pass to the lock on the right of the san door. ‘In you go then.’
*
Unlike the swimming pool, which was flooded with light from the floor-to-ceiling picture window, the sanatorium is dark and gloomy, despite the white walls, tiled floor and cotton bedlinen. Other than one bed, with lumpy bed sheets, none of the beds look slept in and the room seems fairly clean. It shouldn’t take me long to mop the floor and wipe everything down. I put down my cleaning tray then cross the room, mop and bucket in hand, and head for the large metal sink. I squirt bright pink floor wash into the bucket then run the tap. When the bucket’s half full with hot foamy water I lift it out of the sink and plunge the mop head inside.
‘Oi oi!’
The sound of a male voice makes me jump so violently I yank at the mop handle and tip over the bucket, covering my feet, legs and the floor with white, foamy water.
‘Sorry!’ the voice says from across the room. ‘I didn’t mean to make you jump.’
A young black man is sitting
up in the bed nearest the door, his arms folded over his chest, his bed clothes gathered around his hips. Israel. His name comes to me like a lightning flash. He was a disruptive student who was sent to isolation for punishment. I remember Kyle telling me that he has a drug problem. There is a part of me that feels sorry for him but the larger part feels irritated. Israel was gifted with an amazing opportunity to better himself when he arrived here and he’s squandering it. From the inane grin on his face he’s obviously unrepentant.
‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you.’ I sweep my mop over the spilled water and squeeze it into the bucket.
‘You didn’t. It’s good to see you. I haven’t talked to anyone apart from the grumpy nurse in days.’
‘We shouldn’t insult our elders and betters.’ I attack the spilled water again, sweeping the mop from left to right to try to absorb as much as possible, but there’s too much water. It’s going to take me a while to mop it all up.
‘Our elders and betters!’ Israel laughs. ‘Since when did you get so posh?’
I glance at him over my shoulder. ‘There’s nothing wrong with good manners.’
‘Oooh!’ He pulls a face. ‘Who made you the Queen of the World? Seriously –’ he swings his legs out of the bed and crosses the room towards me ‘– is this some kind of wind-up? Why’re you being so weird, Drew?’
My skin prickles with irritation as he plonks himself down on the nearest bed and stares at me. I don’t want to talk to him. I just want to get on with my job.
‘Drew,’ he says again. ‘Why are you being weird? Is it because you think I’m mad?’
I straighten up. ‘I don’t think anything.’
‘No? Because I thought we were mates and you’re looking at me like something you just picked off the sole of your shoe.’
‘I’m not the same person I was, Israel. I’ve done a lot of growing up in the last few days. I’ve got different priorities now.’
‘What? Like being a dick to your mates?’
‘You’re not my mate. You’re an acquaintance. If that.’
‘Ouch!’ He mimes pulling a knife out of his chest. ‘Jesus, you don’t pull any punches, do you, Drew?’
I shrug my shoulders. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m just being honest. And honesty is good.’
‘Honesty is good?’ He opens and closes the fingers of his right hand as he speaks. ‘You sound like some kind of parrot.’
‘Obedience, compliance and honesty. They’re the bedrocks of society. Doctor Rothwell thinks that the most important –’
‘Oh!’ His lips part, forming a perfect circle. ‘I get it. You’ve been for treatment, haven’t you? You’ve got that same weird, glazed look in your eyes as those freaks who stood on the stage in assembly. And the same horrible, condescending manner.’
‘I’m not condescending, Israel. I’m enlightened.’
He roars with laughter and tips back onto the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest as he rolls from side to side. ‘You’re unbelievable.
‘Seriously –’ he props himself up on one elbow and stares at me ‘– I shouldn’t laugh. This is the saddest I’ve ever seen. I wish the old you could see the Drew you’ve turned into because –’
‘Israel! What are you doing out of bed?’ A short, stout woman in a white lab coat with her dark hair curled into a bun, appears in the doorway to the right of the sink.
‘I was … er …’ Israel pulls himself into a sitting position, his eyes wide and fearful. ‘I was just … chatting to the … um … the cleaner.’
The nurse turns her attention to me. ‘Was he distracting you from your duties?’
I nod. ‘He was, yes.’
‘Right, Israel.’ She crooks a finger at him. ‘Come with me.’
‘I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was just chatting. You don’t need to medicate me. I’ll go back to my bed. I won’t say another word. I promise.’
The nurse’s eyes turn steely as she takes a step towards him. The fingers of her right hand tighten on her radio. ‘Are you going to come with me or am I going to have to call some of the friends to help me?’
‘There’s an orderly in the corridor. I could get him for you,’ I suggest helpfully.
‘Thank you.’ She smiles tightly. ‘That won’t be necessary. Will it, Israel?’
His head drops and his shoulders slump as he inches himself off the bed and slopes across the damp tiles towards the nurse.
‘Thanks, Drew,’ he mutters as he passes me. ‘Thanks a bloody bunch.’
I say nothing as he and the nurse disappear through the open door. Instead, I slide my mop back and forth over the slippery floor then squeeze the excess water into the bucket. It’s nice and quiet in the sanatorium now and I can work unimpeded.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lightning rips through the sky, slashing dark clouds and illuminating the fields. Then, as though the clouds have been torn open, heavy rain begins to fall. I look at Mason, standing beside me at the window, and smile.
‘Isn’t it amazing?’
He nods. ‘I love storms.’
‘Me too.’
It’s the day after his assembly. When I asked him how it went he told me that he’d delivered a heartfelt and powerful speech but the response from the pre-assessment students had been disappointing. They’d stared at him with vacant eyes and gawped.
‘They don’t understand,’ he said. ‘But they will.’
I agreed. It’s sad to think how close minded and unenlightened they are but we were like that once. We were trapped in our small lives, distracted by our childish concerns. My uncomfortable altercation with Israel yesterday reminded me as much. Unlike Israel, my eyes have been opened by Doctor Rothwell’s treatment. No one person is more important than society. Dissenting voices should be quashed, not listened to. In order to be happy we need to work hard, and work as one. The Government knows what’s best for us and it’s our responsibility to offer them our support. Together we can make this country great.
I sense someone standing to my left and turn my head. ‘Hello, orderly.’
The blond man smiles. ‘You can call me Steve.’
‘OK.’
He looks me up and down. ‘You’ve got some clothes now I see.’
‘Yes. There were several outfits to choose from in my wardrobe.’ I touch the thick material of my navy blazer. ‘I like this a lot.’
‘Great, well, it’s time for community activities again. What would you like to do? You could help with cooking, cleaning or maintenance.’
I shrug my shoulders. ‘I don’t mind. I’m happy to do any of those things.’
‘OK, cool. Well, you can do cleaning then.’ He hands me some green overalls. ‘Change into these then come and find me in the staffroom and I’ll tell you what to do.’
*
‘Right, so, this is the cleaning cupboard. You’ll find all the supplies you need in here – cloths, sponges, cleaning fluid, mop, bucket etc.’
I nod. ‘I was shown the cupboard yesterday.’
‘We’ve got some new students coming in for treatment this afternoon and I need you to prepare the rooms. The walls and floors need to be washed down. The sinks and toilets need to be scrubbed down, the blankets need to go to laundry and the beds need to be cleaned.’
‘That’s fine.’
He hands me a washing-up bucket containing a pair of washing-up gloves, a sponge, a cloth, cleaning fluid and polish. ‘I suggest you do the sink, toilet and bed first then come back to get the mop and bucket for the walls and floor. The cupboard is locked overnight but I’ll leave it open for the next couple of hours so you can get what you need. When you’re done come and find me.’
‘Will do.’
*
I tie my hair back with a band that I found in my room when I was getting changed into my overalls, then get to work. The sink doesn’t take long to clean but the toilet’s another matter. It’s splattered with vomit and other bodily excretions and I have to concentrate very
hard on the reason why I’m completing this task to stop myself from gagging. It’s important that the room is a safe and sanitary place for the new student to undertake their treatment and, by cleaning it, I am helping to enhance their experience.
It seems to take for ever until the toilet is sparkling clean, but finally it is done and I turn my attention to the bed. I deposit the blanket in the laundry room as requested then get to work with the polishing spray and cloth. The storm is still raging outside, I glimpsed it through the window in the laundry room, but, inside the treatment room it’s silent and there are no distractions so I work quickly and efficiently. I gather up all my cleaning supplies and carry them back down the corridor to the cleaning cupboard. I place them on the floor and open the door. I can see the mop and bucket, propped up in a corner and step inside to retrieve them, keeping one hand on the door to keep it open. I grab the base of the bucket but the handle of the mop is wedged against the shelf above. I pull and pull then let go of the door and yank at it with two hands. The door clicks shut behind me, instantly plunging the cupboard into darkness. I don’t panic. Steve the orderly said he was going to leave the door open. I turn the handle and pull but nothing happens. I run my hands down the wall on the left of the door, searching for a light switch. There isn’t one. My heart hammers in my chest and a wave of panic flashes through me. I reach for the door handle again, jiggle it up and down and pull with all my strength. The door doesn’t move.
‘Help!’ I pound on the door with my clenched fists. ‘Steve! I’m locked in the cupboard.’
I stop pummelling the door and listen. Nothing.
I bang on the door again. ‘Help! I’m trapped! Help! Help!’
I’m breathing quickly now, each inhalation short, sharp and desperate and when I pass a hand over my forehead it’s slick with sweat. I need to think clearly. I need to calm down and wait. Someone will realize that I’m missing and come and find me, but what if the air runs out? The door is sealed shut. If light can’t get in, how can air?